


Mutant Or Monster

by DarkAngel_Alex



Category: Supernatural, X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternative Universe - Canon Setting, Apocalypse aftermath, Gen, Mild John Winchester Bashing, Mutant Dean, Mutant Powers, Mutant discrimination, On Hiatus, Racism, Racist John Winchester, Rating May Change, Tags May Change, Telepathy, Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-13 18:32:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9136435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkAngel_Alex/pseuds/DarkAngel_Alex
Summary: Mutations are seen as abominations by many people. If you are not human, you are a monster. That's the philosophy Dean Winchester grew with.But did that mean he was a monster too?Were mutants monsters?Could other mutants, other people like him, make him see the difference?





	1. Mutation

**Author's Note:**

> The X-Men timeline is moved up 10 years, so Apocalypse happens when Dean is around fourteen. And in this universe SPN shapeshifters (you know, the ones with silver eyes in videos) don't exist, because I hate plot holes. I'll be adding tags if necessary, because honestly, I don't know were is this story going.  
> Not beta'd.  
> Enjoy!

Dean is eight when it first happens. He is in one of his first hunts with his dad, just a vampire. Turned out it wasn’t just one, but a nest. It was an old barn, a few miles away from the town they were staying.

Dean already knows the vampires’ weakness –decapitation. He had studied everything about every monster his dad knew about. But this is different. He can _feel_  it.

He is in front of one of them, and he just _knows_ , as well as he knows the sky is blue, that the blood of a dead man would weaken the vampires as if it were poison.

It’s ridiculous. He had never read or hear that anywhere. He’s probably making it all up.

They kill the nest and go back to them motel, but not without receiving a few injuries. John curses, and wishes there was a way to slow he vampires down from the distance. He later call Bobby, who tells him that yes, dead man’s blood helps. Dean is shocked, but dismisses it, tells himself that he probably had heard it from Bobby before and he hadn’t quite registered it.

It happens again. Over and over. His at the diner, and just _knows_ that if he mentions pregnancy to the waitress, she’ll crash down crying, because she just had a miscarriage. He doesn’t try.

Then there is this kid at school that keeps saying mean comments to him. And Dean just _knows_ that he is just jealous, that before Dean arrived he had been the cool kid of the class, and that he hated he no longer was, because it had been the only way to get a little of attention. Dean just _knew_ that his parents were always working, and never had time for him. Dean befriends him.

* * *

 Dean had grown up knowing about mutants. They were constantly on the news. Dean had also grown up hearing his dad talking about them. Not very nicely.

Dean knew John thought mutants wear freaks, another monster to hunt. But mutants rarely killed people, so they hadn’t encountered too many in their travels (at least, none that they could kill).

At first, Dean had believed it, just as he believed anything his dad told him. Because his dad fought monsters, saved people, he couldn’t be wrong, right?

But then, one day, when John had left him and Sam alone for a hunt, he met this very nice woman who worked at the library.

Dean looked at her, and he _knew_ that she would do anything for her three year old son, that she was allergic to cats, and was afraid of spiders.

She also was reading incredibly fast. As in _three books a minute_ type of fast.

Dean stared at her. Was she really reading? The woman looked up at him, and smiled. Dean returned the smile hesitantly. The woman went back to her books.

Dean looked at Sam. His brother, as always, had his nose buried in a book.

With one more moment of hesitation, Dean got up and walked towards the woman.

“Are you really reading?” He asked, before his courage left him completely. The woman looked up and smiled again.

“Yes,” she said simply.

“How?”

“It’s my mutation, it allows me to read and memorize incredibly fast.” Her smile never left her face, and her voice didn’t change at all. Dean was shocked. He was used to hear about _mutants_ as if it was taboo, or something disgusting. This woman didn’t show any shame about it, not even shyness or wariness. Dean couldn’t understand that. He knew his dad would have wanted to kill her, saying she was a monster. And Dean would have thought the same except… This woman was so… incredibly _human_. Dean had always got a different feeling between a monster’s weakness and a human’s. Monsters gave him this feeling of _wrongness_ , like every fiber on his body _needed_ to use their weakness against them. It didn’t happen with humans. Apparently, it didn’t happen with mutants either.

Nevertheless, mutants didn’t usually show themselves so freely. Why did this woman do it?

“And you go around saying you are mutant just like that?” Dean couldn’t keep the accusation out of his voice. She looked at him straight in the eyes.

“What’s your name?” Against his instincts, Dean told her. “Look, Dean,” she said, “I am not ashamed of what I am. If people don’t like it, they’ll have to deal with it, but I’m not harming anyone, so I won’t stop being what I _am_.” She said it with complete seriousness. Dean didn’t know what to say. She seemed so _convinced_. And against everything Dean knew, he wanted to believe her. For a moment, he wondered if she had the power to convince people with her words, but discarded the thought quickly. If she had that ability, Dean would have sensed deafness or muteness as a weakness.

When had Dean started trusting his _thing_  so blindly? Just a few months ago he had been denying furiously (only to himself of course) the existence of _it_.

"Dean," she said, bringing his attention back to her. "I know some people think we are monsters or _unnatural_. But we are just humans, with an extra ability. Do you think someone is inhuman when they are exceptionally good at cooking, or sports?" Dean shook his head. "Is the same with mutants. We just have an extra ability. No one should be ashamed of who they are.”

Dean understood that, at least he thought so. But, wasn’t it the same with monsters? ‘I’m proud of being a vampire, so I’ll drink all the human blood I want?’ It didn’t work like that.

The woman seemed to notice his doubt. “You can think whatever you want, Dean. But why should we be treated any different because of what, of _who_  we are? We aren’t harming anyone. If a mutant kills someone, they should be treated the same as a human who killed someone.”

Dean bit his lip. Just one conversation with a stranger, and all he had been taught, everything he believed in, was being turned upside down.

“Just promise you’ll think about it,” she asked. Dean nodded, and the she went back to her books again without another word.

Dean went back to where Sam was, thinking. His brother looked at him questioningly, but didn’t say anything. Dean was grateful.

* * *

 After that, Dean couldn’t stop questioning. The vampire they killed, why shouldn’t he go to jail for killing those girls?

He didn’t dare ask his dad. Who knew how would he react? Dean shuddered at the mere thought. But he could trust Bobby. He was much safer to ask stuff like that. And Dean had never heard him say anything negative about mutants.

“Look, boy. Let your conscience rest. It’s nothin’ to be guilty about. The monsters we kill ain’t human.”

That’s what Dean had feared. “What about mutants? Technically, they aren’t humans either.”

Bobby frowned, and was silent for a few moments.

“Mutants are more… like another race, maybe. And they are scientifically explained. If we tried to get a demon to jail, or get the government to solve it, they wouldn’t believe a word.” He paused, like trying to make a decision. “Whatever your dad says, Dean, don’t get confused between monsters and mutants. They ain’t the same thing.”

And just like that, the conversation was over.

* * *

 Dean read everything he could about mutants. He learned that they had been discovered on the 1972, in a weird thing on Cuba about the Soviets and World War Three. There wasn’t a lot of information about it, most of it were rumors. Then, there was some conspiracy stuff about Kennedy, but nobody really knew anything. Next major thing was on 1983, a whole thing about an anti-mutant project went wrong. Dean watched the footage. This guy, Erik Lehnsherr, threatened humanity, destroying lots of stuff and almost killing the president, saying that was a small example of what mutants could do. And then this other mutant, a shapeshifter, saving them. The Lehnsherr guy –who could control metal—, got away, and now was on the most wanted list. But that day marked a difference on mutant history –Dean knew. That day forward, there was more mutant visibility and support. Of course, like in everything, there always were racists, people opposing and discriminating, but there were others supporting too.

In all his research, he also found some (not a lot, but a reasonable amount) information about mutations. Much of it went way over his head (genetics was something he couldn’t even begin to comprehend), but he some stuff was actually useful.

Dean learned about different types of powers – _mutations_ – that existed, or _could_  exist, according to the experts. There wasn’t a lot of actual data –mutants weren’t comfortable enough with the current situation, or better say, humans weren’t comfortable enough with mutants for them to openly say what they were. Most of them kept their condition in secret still.

It took Dean about four months to actually come to terms with being mutant. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was afraid of being one. Now that he was looking for it, Dean realized how his dad actually hated mutants.

But when he finally did, it felt liberating. It wasn’t anything spectacular. He wasn’t even looking into the mirror, having an in depth self-discovering. He was just preparing dinner for Sammy (mac & cheese), and he just told himself. Yes, I am mutant. Fuck everything.

Next step: discovering his mutation. For Dean, that part wasn’t so hard. He had an idea about it, he had had it since he was around eight years old. It just took a little bit of digging on the internet (discreetly, his dad couldn’t found out, and if Sam knew he was up to something, he wouldn’t keep his mouth shut about it) to find something that fit him.

It was called Weakness Detection, sometimes Flaw Detection, Weak Point Sense, or Weak Spot Vision. Dean liked the first term better, though Weak Point Sense could work too, because it was more of a feeling, of just _knowing_.

* * *

 When Dean turned thirteen, he decided to tell Bobby.

It was the most stressful thing Dean had ever done. But everything went good.

“This’ll come in handy in our line of job, but you gotta be careful, kid. Your dad can’t know of this, okay?” Dean nodded. “Good. Whatever you need, Dean, I’m here for yeh, you hear me?”

* * *

 Dean decided he needed to practice with his powers. They were going to be very useful on hunts, he just had to be careful enough so his dad wouldn’t notice.

He started focusing on finding weaknesses of random people. While in hunts, interviews, at school, at diners, at motels. Slowly, he started getting better, more sensitive to it.

But of course, something had to go wrong. They were at a hospital, interviewing some people for a hunt. Suddenly, an alarm went off, and there were people running towards a room. It was an elderly woman whose lungs had failed.

Dean could see her through the glass, gasping for air. And he could _feel it_. Her weakness, her pain, it was also his. He fell on his knees, trying desperately to breathe.  His dad was saying something, asking, shouting maybe? Dean didn’t know. And then, it was over, as soon as it had begun. The woman had been stabilized.

Dean brushed his dad’s questions off as much as he could, and in the end John let it be, though he eyed his son suspiciously the rest of the day.

Dean wasn’t worried about him, at least, not more than usual. There was nothing on the incident that could make John realize his first born was a mutant.

What worried Dean was his power. Was he going to start experimenting other people’s weaknesses? That was something he wouldn’t be able to endure.

He was wary of his power. He tried to suppress it. Stopped focusing on people, ignore the feeling.

But it didn’t work. It got worse.

More often than not, he would feel weaknesses as his own. The sudden and brief –but very real— pain in the arm of a little boy who had broken his. The rush of panic at thinking about heights when he passed a teen by the street. The anxiety of a classmate while doing a presentation.

It was too much. He was edgy all the time. Not able to rest, always feeling weak. Weak, weak, weak. Weaknesses everywhere, on everyone.

Rationally, he knew they weren’t his. He wasn’t afraid of bees, or the bully at school. He wasn’t claustrophobic, and he definitely didn’t have a stomach cancer. But the _feeling_...

_It was too much._

He went to Bobby again. He told him everything the first chance he got. Dean tried to explain it the best he could, and Bobby seemed to understand. He looked at Dean worriedly and with a hint of pity Dean didn’t like at all, and he felt the impulse of saying something hurtful about Bobby’s dead wife, but swallowed it down, because Dean actually _knew_  how painful it was for him.

“I’ll see what I can find, son. Don’t worry, we’ll fix it.”

* * *

 The next time he saw Bobby (and thank goodness, it had been just a few weeks of agonizing wait), he gave Dean a card.

_Xavier’s School For Gifted Youngsters_

_Charles Xavier, Professor._

_1407 Graymalkin Lane, Salem Center_

_Westchester County, New York._

_(914) 555  1407_

 

“It’s your decision, Dean. But I think it’d help.” That was all that Bobby said.


	2. Divergence

After receiving that card from Bobby, Dean couldn’t stop thinking about it. It felt heavy in his pocket, in his back. A weight he couldn’t shake off. He found himself staying up late at night, when Sammy and his Dad were sound asleep, staring at the ceiling. Thinking. Thinking, thinking, thinking.

At first, he’d managed to ignore it, like he did with everything on his life that complicated things.

Hunt monsters and take care of Sammy. That was it. Nothing more, nothing less, no shades of gray. So he didn’t think about it.

By the time he was fourteen, and an Apocalypse struck. No one knew much about it, but it seemed like a very crazy mutant had tried to take over the world, and turned out the Lehnsherr guy wasn’t so bad after all. Half of the world was destroyed, but that wasn’t what affected Dean the most. The whole thing caused his Dad to talk more and more against mutants, without any filter whatsoever, because a lot of people were angry at them for the almost end of the world. Despite that, everyone had heard _him_. Charles Xavier, reaching all minds on Earth, telling them to protect the ones who couldn’t protect themselves.

Like Dean understood it, the Professor had been forced to deliver a death sentence message for all the “weak”, and had changed it. Dean secretly admired him for it. Sam wanted to know how telepathy worked. John found it disgusting, another monster to hunt.

So now, Dean was forced to hear basically 24/7 to his father saying what a monster he was. It was tiring, to say the least. And it also meant the mutant issue was on his mind all the time.

Therefore, sleepless nights in dirty motels.

Despite being freaked out with the whole mind reading thingy, he couldn’t help but _trust_  Charles Xavier in some strange way. He obviously didn’t know the guy, but anyone who risked his life to protect someone, was good on Dean’s book.

Dean had done his research, and so far, all the mutants that had assisted to Xavier’s School were very positive about it.

Dean didn’t want to admit it, even to himself, but he wanted it. Wanted to be accepted as he was; he wanted not to be reminded every damn day what a failure he was, told he was a monster.

The problem was Sammy. Dean knew, deep inside him, he could leave John Winchester, it would be more of an escape, really. He admired his father; the man had gone through some hard shit in his life, and helped a lot of people. But Dean wasn’t dumb. He knew John could do better. They shouldn’t be hunting. Yes, Dean wanted to save people, if not them, who? But sometimes, in a flash of selfishness, when Sam was being especially bitchy about having a normal life, or their Dad had left them for a couple of days without enough money, Dean found he agreed with his little brother. It would be nice to have a real home, a house to get back to, _one_  school to go to, actually make friends.

And he hated it. Hated thinking that, because it was his responsibility to take care of Sammy, to save people, hunt monsters.

He couldn’t do it. Dean couldn’t, wouldn’t, be selfish enough to leave Sammy, leave the hunt, just to be in a fancy school were people would tell him wasn’t that _big_  of a freak.

Or maybe he wasn’t _selfless_  enough. If Dean was completely honest with himself (and he almost never was), one of the main reasons he didn’t want to go to Xavier’s School was that he was _afraid_  of not fitting there either, afraid he might be a freak among freak. And he didn’t want to leave the hunt. Or Sammy. Hunting, it was his life. It made Dean feel _alive_  and _useful_. And he knew he couldn’t just quit. After knowing what it’s out there, you can’t just ignore it. But the main issue was Sam. Dean knew that Sam wanted a normal life, and life with a mutant wasn’t a normal one. And he couldn’t leave him with their Dad either.

But the real selfish reason: he didn’t want to be away from Sam. His little brother was his life. And he knew Sam would be better off without him, he was a smart kid. He would probably get into college without a dumb mutant brother to drag him down.

That’s how it was, thinking and thinking under the dark mantle of the night, and then falling into a restless sleep without solving anything.

Nothing changed much. The world had been repaired after the Apocalypse destruction and the Winchesters were still hunting. Mutants were more accepted now, but there still was that separation, with the underlying either disgust, fear, or envy.

There obviously were humans who supported mutants, but they still weren’t majority.

 

Two years passed, and Dean was sixteen. He dropped out of school to hunt.

 

Two more years, and Dean was eighteen. Sammy was fourteen. And then, in particular case in Nebraska about a kitsune, everything changed. For the better or the worse, Dean couldn’t tell.

 

* * *

 

Charles spent the trip back to Westchester in and out of consciousness. His head hurt _so much_. Whenever he was awake, he could _feel_  every thought in _every_  mind. At first, he thought he was just distracted, that he was just too weak to put up his mind shields. But then, he realized the thoughts weren’t only of the people in the plane. He could hear _everyone_. It was overwhelming, hard to register. It was like when Apocalypse forced him to send the message to the whole world. The feeling of over five billion minds it was something Charles could barely cope with. It had been hard enough with Apocalypse’s help.

The sensation was similar to Cerebro, but not quite. The machine was designed to amplify Charles’ mutation, but also filter the information, process it into something Charles’ brain could understand without collapsing.

But now, _now_ , he could sense the world in its whole. Just as he had with Apocalypse’s intervention, but without the purpose, the _direction_  the other mutant had guided him with. Now, it was all muddled, chaos without control, threatening to surpass him.

All the voices, the pain, joy, sadness, loss, love, worry, happiness, all of it. Charles thought he would go crazy. _It hurt so much_ , and it was all _so confusing_.

“Professor? Professor, can you hear me?” Jean. That was Jean, wasn’t it? Charles didn’t even know if it was real. Was Jean actually talking to him? Was she communicating telepathically? Was _he_  reading her mind? Was this even real?

Someone –probably Erik–, said something, if to him or Jean, Charles didn’t know. He felt hands on his temples – Jean’s. _Sleep_ , the thought entered his mind. Finally, he fell into blissful unconsciousness.

 

* * *

 

Moira went back to the CIA and reported what had happened, clearing (as much as she could) Erik’s reputation.

Meanwhile, the X-men went back to the Westchester mansion. Or what it was left of it anyways. Erik and Jean (in a wonderful act of cooperation, if you asked Charles) reconstructed it, with all of the students present.

It was a delightful sight to witness, but Charles couldn’t really appreciate it. His mind was a complete and utter mess, and it hurt, hurt so much _still_.

Charles knew that if he wasn’t careful, he could pass the pain he was feeling to the ones around him. He knew what his powers entailed; he knew that a telepath’s powers could destroy somebody’s mind. He definitely wasn’t looking forward to it.

He was used to it really. He had to constantly shield his own mind, put walls around it so it wouldn’t wander into other’s heads. Charles respected everyone’s privacy, and he knew (by experience) that people didn’t like in the slightest the possibility of someone being able to know their thoughts.

Charles understood it, so he kept his mind to himself most of the time, only telepathically aware enough to detect hints of emotions or imminent danger. It was tiring sometimes, but if he let go (that is, before the whole thing with Apocalypse happened, that changed everything), he usually was overwhelmed with the voices. Thus the barrier was always up, even if it wasn’t at complete lockdown.   

But Apocalypse changed it all. He destroyed every wall, every restraint on Charles’ mind, more than the ones the professor himself had put up. Apocalypse freed it, letting it loose to roam the world. _So much power_. Charles had felt drunk in it when the other mutant was guiding him. Now it was just crushing.

The reach of his mind was beyond imaginable, without him even trying. The problem was, Charles couldn’t control it. In the end, it was just _pain_ , unstoppable and useless. He barely could concentrate long enough to sense one specific mind, let alone read it. That without considering the fact that Charles was afraid to do so, in fear of losing control (as little as he had) of his own powers. He felt like one of his students, afraid and alone, lost in himself, not being able to control nor comprehend his mutation.

He would manage, regardless. Charles retreated entirely into his own mind, building back up the walls, just like Erik and Jean were doing with the school. This time, he didn’t leave anything loose. He pulled his entire mind and tied tightly, so that it wouldn’t even graze another’s.

The pain didn’t go away, but it became more bearable. It was still there, but it was more like a dull ache behind his eyes rather than excruciating agony that was before.

It was neither a perfect nor permanent solution though. It had taken part of his concentration to simply maintain the shields as they were before, but he had grown used to it, and had done it unconsciously, even while sleeping. Now, Charles had to be constantly thinking of it, keeping the walls up. It was exhausting at best.

At least he couldn’t destroy anybody’s mind.

_Anybody’s but yours_. Charles decided to ignore that thought.

oOo

Jean kept glancing at him. She was worried, Charles realized. Normally, people didn’t feel Charles’ mind when he was barely touching theirs, as he had used to do. But Jean was a telepath too, a powerful one at that. She had always been able to sense him. With time, they had developed the habit to _be_  on each other’s minds, more presently than in the default mode. It had been a relief for both of them to be able to communicate and use their mental abilities without restraint. They both had strong enough minds to stand each other’s presence, and strong enough shields to hide thoughts they didn’t want the other knowing, unless they were looked for, but neither of them did.

That didn’t happen anymore though. Charles’ mind was shielded, completely hidden it itself, so unless Jean purposely tried to break the walls (which she would never do), she wouldn’t be able to feel it, and Charles couldn’t feel hers either.

That wasn’t actually the biggest problem. The real problem was that Charles couldn’t sleep. He was tired, absolutely drained of all energy, but if he slept, even for a few minutes, the walls would crumble like sand.

Dark bags appeared under Charles’ eyes, and it became harder to think straight. Yet, he managed, because he had to. For his students.

oOo

They say that when you are tired, you are more likely to tell the truth, that you are more true to yourself, less masks on.

oOo

“You’re sure I can’t convince you to stay?” asked Charles, almost pleadingly.

“You’re psychic, Charles. You can convince me to do anything,” replied Erik, not turning back to face him.

Both knew perfectly well that Charles would never do that, much less Erik, even if he _could_. Which he didn’t. Having his mind in lockdown prevented Charles from using any of his telepathy; though Erik wasn’t aware of this fact.

Charles opened his mouth. _Goodbye, old friend_ , he meant to say. The professor knew, without needing to read his mind, that Erik was expecting him to say it, to let him go. But Charles couldn’t, not again.

“Would you want me to?” He asked instead.

Erik was rendered speechless, though he barely showed it in his face.

Again, both knew they weren’t really talking about telepathy. The _real_  question, the one Charles had really asked, although in silence, was another entirely. _Do you want to stay?_

A few more seconds of silence; then Erik spoke.

“Maybe I would.” Not waiting for a reply, Erik walked away.

Charles was at loss. What did that even mean? He wondered if he was ever going to understand Erik Lehnsherr completely. He doubted it.

Did it mean he was staying? Charles couldn’t be completely sure, but if he trusted everything he knew about Erik, then it was a yes. Probably.

With one last glance at the closed doors of the Danger Room, Charles wheeled himself towards the lift, trying to catch up with his friend.

“Erik!” Charles called out. Erik stopped just us he was entering the lift. He turned around, eyebrows raised slightly. “We need you here, Erik,” Charles said, looking at him in the eyes.

“Do you?” He asked back coolly.

“Of course, my friend,” the telepath responded without hesitation. He paused for a few seconds. Erik didn’t look inclined to reply, almost as if he was waiting for something. “We _want_  you here. _I_  want you here,” he admitted.

Under other circumstances, Charles wouldn’t have said it. But he was _so tired_ , and it had been twenty years. Twenty years since Erik had left him on the beach, wishing he had stayed. Twenty years of disappointment and heartbreak. This time, he wanted Erik to stay.

“Please. Stay.”

“I told you, Charles,” there was small smile on Erik’s lips, a glint in his eyes. “You can convince me of anything.”

Charles broke into a smile, almost laughing out of pure relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter! Hope you enjoyed it, and as always feedback is very welcome :)

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked the first chapter! Feedback is very welcome.  
> And can someone please help me with the rating? So far I think it's okay with general, but it will probably have swearing (because, Dean Winchester), so I don't know if I have to change it?  
> Also, I realize Dean is a little OOC (okay, maybe a lot), but take in consideration that there's a major divergence from the canon when he is eight. Something as big as a mutation would totally change a kid's personality. So, yeah, that's it. thanks for reading!


End file.
